Category So Terrible It’s Amazing

Evil will always prevail, because good is dumb.

Attention citizens: there is now a group of masked superheroes fighting crime in Seattle.

If ‘masked’ includes ski masks and ‘fighting crime’ includes taking golf clubs away from raving homeless men and then not being able to file a complaint because they don’t want to reveal their secret identities counts as acts of heroism, that is. They have their girlfriend drive their godmother’s Kia Fate around, looking for evildoers. One can only imagine that they meet back for cheetos, cocoa, and some wicked-tough rounds of Mario Kart at the Rain City Superhero Movement’s headquarters, aka, grandma’s basement. The names of these heroes? Thorn, Buster Doe, Green Reaper, Gemini, No Name, Catastrophe, Thunder 88, Penelope and Phoenix Jones the Guardian of Seattle.

However, what have we learned from movies, television, and comic books? Superheroes can’t just fight regular homeless-man-based crime. They need supervillains. I hereby proclaim myself one of those supervillains: Sassmachine, evildoer extraordinaire! My evil powers include aggressive driving and making inappropriate jokes that make everyone laugh and feel bad for doing so immediately afterward. I embody anti-Seattle. I won’t let you merge! I won’t wave you through a four way stop! If you’re an Ave rat taking your sweet time sauntering across the street when you KNOW I’m waiting to turn, I’ll mow your hipster ass down and snap you like a goddamned twig with my Ford Taurus assault vehicle! To demonstrate my total disregard for the rules of the road, I have been driving with one burned-out headlight for MONTHS and I will continue to do so–take that, heroes!

My partner in crime will be Waste Stream, a domestic eco-terrorist. He will perform his evil by scattering tracts hailing our evil deeds and talking smack about the superheroes, printed on virgin paper that has been laminated so it will never biodegrade, accompanied by the occasional half-eaten food product or lead-filled piece of broken electronics.

At this time, we also retain one executive villain assistant, who shouts obscenities at passers-by, points and laughs at the attempts of the heroes, and makes us coffee.

Pure. Evil.

We are accepting further applications for our League of Petty Evil, so if you would like to join, please let us know your name and a little bit about you to make sure your type of evil really meshes with the group. A picture would also help us further determine if you are League of Petty Evil material. As you can see, we have a pretty sweet lair going already.

150570_465319603939_1881689_n Coming soon: mini-fridge. Of evil.

To further demonstrate my qualifications as an evildoer, here I am on a chart among other known evildoers:

Once you’re on a chart, you know you’ve made the big leagues.

My first evil task was to set up a facebook page announcing my evil presence, and ‘liking’ the Rain City Superhero Movement. I’m sure it will only be a matter of time before I am both hated and feared.

“Tell me when you’re sick of having your mouth open and I’ll be the hole.” (part two)

After stuffing ourselves sick, we drove to Marsh’s Free Museum. If you’ve ever gazed upon a piece of tacky merchandise so wondrous you never knew how you lived without it, you know what it is to be in Marsh’s.   28726_398696973939_3698896_n Marsh’s schtick revolves around Jake the Alligator Man, a poorly taxidermied monkey/alligator hybrid which has been featured prominently in the now-defunct Weekly World News, the only paper brave enough to tell us the truth about Bigfoot abandoning his children and Mrs. Bigfoot having to hook to buy diapers because her babies crap like a man. I may have, in my youth, read a story about this self-same Alligator Man and wholeheartedly believed it, because why would anything with ‘News’ in the name lie to me? News flash: I am naive. 28726_398696983939_1637958_n Marsh’s treasures hail from a different era, a time when we needed machines to mold things for us. Today, in the Pacific Northwest, things like bread and window sills and underarms manage to grow mold without aid. Truly, we live in the future! 28726_398696988939_3540491_n Do you suppose the cotton is magic? Or is magic corporeal now? What do magic boxers do? Is the fit magic? Do they lend magical properties to objects around them? Magic asses! Think of the possibilities! 28726_398696998939_3649411_n Of course, if you want to be a true stud, you will wear a studded t-shirt. There’s even danger inherent in wearing it! Nipple burn, or something! 28726_398697193939_5516951_n What is this I don’t even 28726_398697158939_4609516_n Jake himself is trapped in a lackluster glass case. I, for one, believe he should have some neon flashiness, a little more glittery Vegas-style sheen to him. At least give him a hat appropriate to the season!   …Like this one. Appropriate for all seasons! 28726_398697188939_5537175_n Especially deer season. 28726_398697238939_3403231_n 28726_398697433939_3599699_n Yes, that is totally a two-headed alcoholic snake and not some doll heads propped upon a turd.


Racist or delicious? Both? 28726_398697468939_7519764_n Jesus Christ that lion has hemmorhoids, get in the car! I brought home with me three amazing new things: a rad poster, an alligator head, and a skullfuck pirate to go with the blowjob pirate I sadly didn’t buy last year which has now been sold and I will have to make my own because my grand new plan for the pirate bathroom (now quite different from the pictures but whatever) is to have a shelf with “Pirates You Can Stick Your Dick Into: The Series” which requires at bare minimum three pirates: A Skullfuck Pirate, A Blowjob Pirate, and an Earfuck Pirate. These are the sorts of things one can do with their apartment when it’s conceivable that no family will ever come to vist, ever again. After we got home from Marsh’s, it was time for a marshmallow gun war. It started earnestly enough with Emily standing patiently with her mouth open, waiting for a delicious marshmallow to land inside. It ramped up when she got popped in both eyes, particularly so when we discovered that velocity and sting to recipient increases if we wet the marshmallows just slightly, and that we could load several into the barrel for a scattershot effect. Marshmallows went EVERYWHERE. Down the stairs, behind picture frames, inside the decorative brick-a-brak, into the fireplace, behind the television, between the couch cushions…everywhere. The firing squad versus the willing victim. 28726_398695748939_5697526_n 28726_398695883939_8016977_n After that marshmallow war was cleaned up, we settled in to watch Orgazmo and play the associated drinking game: drink every time someone says the word ‘Orgazmo’, ‘Heavenly Father’, or ‘Jesus’, which means we got loaded. A few drunk folks (no names, ahem) discovered that you can make really awesome sea lion noises through a marshmallow gun. Particularly in the wee hours when everything else is quiet enough to allow your bellows to truly reverberate. It was only after we’d stopped making damn fools of ourselves that we realized there were people attempting to sleep who were planning on getting up early the next day to leave, so we attempted quiet peace offerings. 28726_398697483939_723663_n After all the excitement and running around, we all felt quite awake and settled in to watch another movie, during which we all passed out on our respective couches. Thus endeth day two.